Morning After
by Ice Bear
Summary: Spoiler for Stakeout. What the lads might have done to unwind after saving the city from an atomic bomb.


William Bodie sat in a hard wooden chair in front of the Controller's desk. His elbows rested on his knees and his blue eyes stared into the golden swirl of scotch in the crystal glass as though it held the answer to the many questions he had yet to ask. He fought with himself to keep from hurling it against the wall, thinking how satisfying it would be to listen to it break. 

He'd been on duty for just over 24 hours, and he was worn through to the bone. The adrenaline high of a successful op had left him more than an hour ago, and all he wanted was to escape the confines of the room, of headquarters, of everything and everyone. Well, maybe not everyone, he amended as he snuck a look at his partner. Ray Doyle was slumped back in his chair, reddish gold curls limp in the wee hours of the morning, green eyes glazed with fatigue.

He chanced a look at his watch and stood, startling the others in the room. George Cowley looked into the hooded blue eyes of the younger half of his best team and nodded. "Go on, off with you both. I'll see you at 10 on Thursday." He fancied to himself that he'd been graced by a look of gratitude from 3-7 before he'd turned and gently pulled his partner to his feet. But it was very late or far too early - 3:15 a.m - so he'd probably just imagined it. As the door shut behind the two, he lifted his own glass of scotch, noticing that his hand shook slightly. He couldn't begin to understand how they'd been able to figure out the puzzle, find the bomb at the bowling alley, and disarm it. He was just damned glad they had.

Bodie ignored the looks from the other operatives in the building as he manhandled his sluggish partner down the hallway, into the lift and out to the car park. He deposited Doyle in the passenger seat, where he slumped back and immediately closed his eyes. Twenty minutes later at a red light, Bodie reached into the back seat and pulled a plaid rug to the front, using it to cover his dozing partner.

He drove, hands clenched on the wheel, glancing at his passenger occasionally. His mind was racing, and he couldn't find a way to shut it off. Normally, when the end of an op had them both wired, they would visit a pub or three and drink to just this side of oblivion. And if they were lucky, they'd each snag a bird and work off the rest of their nervous energy in bed. 

But this had been no normal op, he reminded himself, one hand unclenching from the wheel long enough to wipe harshly across the blood shot blue eyes. Not normal at all, and he doubted there was enough scotch in all the Empire to help him wind down from this one.

Who the hell plans to send a message to Queen and country by planting a bomb – an atomic bomb, no less – in a bloody bowling alley of all places? Only a nutter – a group of nutters - he amended in answer to his own question. Why of all the bowling alleys in England did he and Ray have to be in that one? Good Christ, if they hadn't been extremely lucky, their charred ashes would be littering the air over London at that very momement. He closed his eyes tightly for just a moment as he tried to wipe that morbid vision from his mind. 

And Ray, Ray had been bloody marvelous. Hands steady as a rock as he calmly and carefully defused the bomb as though it were an everyday occurrence. As for himself, he wasn't sure he'd actually taken a breath from the time they learned it was an atomic bomb to the time the ticking stopped. All he'd been able to do was stand there, gun against one of the idiot's heads while his partner had worked his magic.

He knew about the damage bombs could do – good old fashion TNT and plastique: he'd disarmed enough of them in his life between the SAS and CI5. And he'd been taught about atomic bombs: could hear the Captain's lecture; see the photos of Nagasaki and Hiroshima displayed on the frayed screen in that dark briefing room; and recall the list of best places to find cover…well, that message clearly hadn't stuck with him since he'd stood not more than three feet from the bloody thing!

He continued to drive, trying to empty his mind of all the horrors parading through it, until he pulled onto a small, dirt road and carefully maneuvered the Ghia up a hill. He parked the car in the grass and turned off the motor. Looking again at his sleeping partner, he hesitated a long moment before reaching over and giving him a gentle shake. Without waiting for a response, and quite sure he'd not like the one he knew he'd get at some point, he exited the car and headed to the boot. He exchanged a quick look with his partner just before he closed the boot and headed off. Ray's eyes were filled with exhaustion…maybe this wasn't his brightest idea but going back to his flat was something he simply couldn't do, not yet. 

He settled on the ground on the rug he'd found in the boot, and leaned back against a downed tree trunk. He watched his partner's unsteady progress across the grass and patted a spot beside him before the man could say anything. He knew he wasn't up to the dressing down he was likely to face now that his partner was awake and had discovered he'd been kidnapped and dropped in the middle of god knows where. As soon as Doyle settled his arse on the ground, he reached a hand out, and cradled his cheek gently before handing over a flask. He tried not to smile when his golly clamped his mouth shut against the tirade waiting there.

The two men sat in the heavy quiet of the pre-dawn gazing at the rolling, green farmland laid out before them, only broken - here and there - by stands of trees. A sigh released from the older man as he relaxed against his partner. 

Fifteen minutes later the first ray of sunlight appeared on the horizon. As the hints of gold and pink blossomed and grew, Bodie took a chance and settled an arm over Doyle's shoulder. They sat on their small patch of English soil until the sun had ceased its colorful display and turned its attention to its morning duties. Bodie felt something inside uncoil. While he was not the type to get sentimental, the sunrise over the peaceful countryside had served as a reminder of why they worked so hard to keep the island smelling, however faintly, of lavender and roses. 

They were silent on the way back to the car. Ray held out a hand for the keys, and, after a few quick directions, Bodie settled into the passenger seat and closed his eyes. Doyle shook his head fondly, twenty minutes later at the soft snore that escaped his mate. 

They arrived back at 3-7's flat just before eight. Bodie had come awake to the snarl and din of early morning London traffic and swung the door open as Ray pulled the car to a stop. His escape from the car was stopped by a firm grip on his shoulder, and he shifted in the seat so he could look at the driver. "Ta Sunshine," Doyle said softly, a hint of a smile on his handsome face and a world of warmth in his green eyes. "I'll pick you up at 9 tomorrow, don't be late." 

"Sweet dreams, Raymond," he replied with a smile to match his partner's, "you've earned them this day." 

Once in his flat, he took a long shower, staying in until the water ran tepid. He climbed into bed, and curled into a tight ball - pillow held firmly to his chest - sleep finding him as the beauty of the English sunrise played across his mind.

Sunrise on the Hills by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow  
"If thou art worn and hard beset  
With sorrows, that thou wouldst forget,  
If thou wouldst read a lesson, that will keep  
Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep,  
Go to the woods and hills! No tears  
Dim the sweet look that Nature wears."


End file.
